Eyes to the West
by floofyMiko
Summary: Post-LOTR trilogy. LegolasXOC. An elf and her sister decide to remain in Middle Earth rather than to depart for Valinor. Written ages ago and DISCONTINUED.


Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. YES! My shortest disclaimer yet! XD

Author's Note: Well, here I am again with another attempt at an LOTR fic. As I mentioned in my profile, this fic is currently in a coma. All I have written is this prologue. X-X I know, I'm horrible. So, for now, I suppose this fic is discontinued...that is, until someone gives me ideas or I get some inspiration.

One other thing: As I wrote this fic, I was playing around with a very, very flowery, fancy schmancy style. So yeah. XD

Enjoy! (If you can)

* * *

**Eyes to the West**

Prologue

A wind came from the west. The gentle breeze wafted over fields of fertile foliage, where it stretched beyond the farthest reaches of the eye. The long, green grass rippled like a sea of emerald, glistening beneath the golden sun. Anar, the beloved, from which all things receive life, smiled upon his fruitful land. His bright rays shone and danced in the treetops. As life sprang forth from the Earth in forgotten times beyond all recollection, Anar was there. As the seasons passed, and the terrain transformed, many toils, many wars, and many sorrows had come about; all was under his warm, ever watchful, forever abiding gaze. There had been a time when the world was broken and bloodstained. Anar perceived of it all, and he grieved. Isil, guardian of the night, whose blessed light bathed the twilight landscape, remarked upon the shadows that crept across the land; she too had wept.

All was peaceful now. The earth had awakened below the heavens, peeking cautiously, blinking as if rousing from a deep, dreamless slumber. It looked up into the clear, blue sky, shedding the scars and wounding memories of days long past. The daffodils delicately unfurled their petals, like a newborn chick unraveling its little wings for the first time. The trees blossomed into varying hues of white, pink, and purple. Little wild land animals poked their heads out of their burrows, and caught a glimpse of the unspoiled world that sparkled and bloomed with life. No other spur was needed. A new spring had indeed come.

* * *

Several miles away, the wind drifted past a large company of Elves. They were a fair and noble folk, bestowed with the gift of innumerable days; their faces shone with an undying glow, their wisdom was profound and immeasurable, and they did not age as time progressed. The Elves walked swiftly, but without haste; their agile feet barely touched the soft ground as they made their way silently on the clear forest path. Their light footfalls made no indentation in the earth, so that not even the keenest eyes could trace down their course. Birds twittered about their heads, fluttering their tiny wings and singing a beautiful melody in greeting. The welcoming rays of Anar stole glances at the party as it filtered in through gaps between the leaves of the tall trees. The Elves strolled with blissful expressions on their faces, their arms swinging lightly at their sides. The youngest ones danced up and down the path, weaving their way between their elders; laughter was quick to erupt from their lips. They were on their way to the Grey Havens, and to the promising ships that would bear them away to Valinor, the Undying Lands; their hearts brimmed with joy and were at rest.

Towards the center of the group, flanked by two Elves who gently fanned her with a pair of giant palm leaves, was a fair Elven maiden. Although she was no more beautiful than the rest of her company, she was dressed more finely and gracefully than them; her gown was a soft, sheer green, gleaming more luminously than Anar's morning light reflected on the trees that sparkle with the day's first dew, and it was edged with silver that seemed to glisten of its own accord and float on air. In her hair she wore a headpiece of thin silver threads intricately entwined between strands of her long, raven black hair. As she walked, she sang quietly to herself in a lovely Elvish tongue of old, but the breeze carried her tune up into the treetops, and reached the ears of all who were around. In her hand she held a small pouch made of rich blue velvet whose contents jingled almost inaudibly with every step she took.

Farther along the road, the young Elf who walked by her side spoke up. "My lady," he said hesitantly, as if fearful to interrupt the charm of such a sweet melody.

"Yes?" inquired the maiden, her last note still lingering in the peaceful air.

"We are but one mile from the Havens," he said, "Once we arrive and have boarded the ships, we cannot turn back. My lady, are you sure you wish to take this journey?" He fell into a somber silence, visibly holding in a large breath as he awaited her answer.

"Why, yes, Eärhil. I feel I am quite ready to return to the land of my kin," answered the maiden, her melodious voice faltering.

The youth broke into a wide grin. "I'm glad," he said. "I shall be honored to serve you again in Valinor, my lady."

The maiden smiled in return. Her clutch on the pouch tightened.

"I wonder how Valinor looks like?" Eärhil considered aloud. "It must be a fantastic place. I have dreamed of it many times. It exists in my mind as an absolutely astounding, glorious world with tall, glittering white towers and shimmering seas beyond the reach of the keenest eye! Oh, I am filled with such an uncontainable excitement! Aren't you, my lady?"

"Of course," she replied, averting her gaze.

They kept on their walk, but the maiden did not continue her song.

* * *

In the northeastern part of Middle Earth lay a vast forest realm. Its borders stretched from the cold mountains of Ered Mithrin to the golden woods of Lothlorien; the trees on the eastern perimeter marked a transition from the barren lands of Rhovanion to a blossoming haven; to the west stood the Hithaeglir, or Misty Mountains, a line of white-capped peaks that jutted out of a carpet of green. It was a plentiful, flourishing country teeming with a myriad of plant life, from the enormous oaks filled with ancient memory whose tops brushed the azure sky, obscuring the sun, to the little saplings whose slender braches shook playfully in the breeze. Woodland creatures, both great and small, enjoyed the refuge and relaxation that this dwelling harbored. Its name during the reign of the dark lord was Mirkwood, for a strange darkness had extended its foul hand into the fair woods of the kingdom. A nameless fear had grown until the land became still, as if a single voice could evoke the wrath of the enemy. But the enemy had been forever defeated, and Mirkwood retook its name of old, by which it had been called in the Younger Days of the Elves: Greenwood the Great.

Deep in the heart of the forest there stood a magnificent Elven palace. It seemed to be weaved elaborately of fine sheets of gold and silver, and laced with the leaves of the forest; its roofs shimmered with finely placed beryls, Elf-stones of a luminous jade. There was a giant door of marvelous white stone that opened up to grand halls that seemed to disappear into an emerald hill, for most of the palace was underground. An open balcony rose high among the branches of the trees; a beautiful white rail carved with highly wrought Elven designs served as the frame of the enclosure. An Elf stood alone on the terrace, his arms resting on the balustrade. He stared out into the trees, his gaze focused on the middle distance. However, he seemed lost in thought and memory; his expression was grave, and his sapphire eyes appeared to be searching, though unseeingly and in vain.

A door creaked open behind him, and there was the soft but sure tap of Elven footsteps on the untainted stone floor. He remained motionless, giving no heed to the sounds; there was no acknowledgement for their existence. A hand rested on his shoulder, yet he did not flinch nor turn his head. For many moments both stood in silence, listening to the calls of tree and sky. Presently, a gentle voice spoke.

"My son, grieve not, for not all is lost. I know your sorrow, and you have reason for misery. But, will you not cast your gaze upon the far reaches of our kingdom, in which all the long, loving labors and nurture of our people can be viewed in all its glory? How all the land is merry, how every living thing rejoices with their jubilant songs! My son, will you not look at your father?"

The Elf tensed, but slowly turned. His face was etched with anguish, and he sucked in a rattling breath. "I'm sorry, my good lord and father Thranduil. But I have lost the one whom I love dearest on this earth; I cannot find her, and I cannot rest."

Thranduil smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling with the caring and love of a father. "Legolas, she is not lost. One day, when the heavens allow it, your paths will cross; you shall meet each other again. Then, she will be your star, your very own to cherish for infinity and a day; nothing ever will separate you as long as she holds you heart."

Legolas said nothing, but turned his face back towards the woodland. He paused fleetingly, then lifted his gaze and whispered her name, softly and longingly into the sky.

"Lindhwen."

It was like honey on his lips; instantly he felt her presence, her gentle arms around him in a warm embrace. He caught her scent, sweet as strawberries in the summertime, her lovely voice murmuring his name like it was the only thing that mattered. He ran his fingers through her hair, black as night, a sheet of silk elegantly falling like streams of water. As she closed her eyes and slowly leaned against him, he pulled out a little pouch, and pressed it into her hand. "Never let go of this." She sighed contentedly. "Never let go." She tilted her head back, and he kissed her full on the lips.

But as suddenly as it came, it was gone. As the vision faded, a fresh breeze sprang up from the east and carried it away on waves of wind, tumbling like unchained flower petals; and it disappeared into the west.

* * *

"Lindhwen?"

The soft, tender voice drew her away from her reverie. She lifted her head at the sound of her name, spoken with such love and compassion. An Elven maiden stood there, almost a mirror image of herself, but for the fact that she was arrayed in a rich burgundy; her face bore a few delicate lines, an indication that illustrated countless years of wisdom. She held her out her long arms in an empathetic and welcoming gesture, her white palms facing upwards. Suddenly, her throat clogged with emotion, and Lindhwen threw herself into the maiden's arms; the tears flowed free, and she wept bitterly.

"My dearest sister, forget not that I also feel a great pain," the maiden said, tears trickling from her face as well. "For I have also left a loved one behind in my departure to the eternal shores of Valinor. I, too, feel that I have gone astray and am alone, with no one to relieve my torment. It seems that no one can provide me with comfort, and I, too, suffer daily from my loss. I remember my Thalion…" She choked and said no more.

Lindhwen suppressed her lamentation and stepped back slightly to take her sister's hands in hers. Suddenly, a change came over her face; the thick blanket of helplessness and grief that had been laid unmercifully upon her seemed to lighten, as if it was being lifted up and away from her shoulders. And finally, she became conscious of another soul drowning in sorrow besides her own.

"Aurëwen," she cried, a new set of tears cascading down her cheeks, eyes glistening with remorse and realization, "How could I have been so blind? I have been locked up inside, a prisoner of my own contrivance for days on end, not giving a second thought to my own flesh and blood, my very own sister! I have been so enveloped in my own despair that I have forgotten my interminable friend, who has been there for me since birth! Oh, Aurëwen, could you ever forgive me?" And the two maidens fell sobbing into each other's arms, the burdens and anguish divided between them, alleviating one another with unspoken words.

They stood there motionless for a time. White, wispy clouds passed overhead against a beautiful backdrop of blue sky; the great canvas under which all the earth lies in tranquil harmony. Time swirled around the spirits of the two sisters, but it did not have the slightest impression on them, for the days of a Firstborn cannot be calculated, and the minutes of the clock has little importance. Eventually, Aurëwen shattered the silence.

"I was meaning to tell you, my sister most beloved," she murmured through her sniffling, "But we have finally arrived at the Grey Havens. You had been smothered in a shroud of sadness, so I had not the heart to speak of this before." She turned her face towards the west, and abruptly her features lit with the radiance of the multihued sunset; the stray tears on her cheeks mirrored the glow of sun, preparing for his nightly slumber, and it brought about the source of the light to appear within her.

Lindhwen titled her head up in surprise and followed Aurëwen's gaze; indeed, there it was, laid out like a boundless mural, lovely and picturesque in every aspect. In the distance, two white pavilions perched upon identical cliff faces, noble and towering above all, yet warmly beckoning them enter into the ceaseless realm. Between them was a narrow strait shining like gold under Anar's rays of farewell. And beyond, beyond the horizon waited, anticipating the departure of several Elven ships out in the direction of the open ocean, sterns fixed upon the east. She was stunned to find that they had been standing only a few steps away from the wooden platform, next to which was a lovely vessel, ready to commence its journey. It was skillfully engraved with entangled leaves of polished cedar; the golden, gossamer sails, the exact color of the sun, billowed in the delicate ocean breeze, and the bow was crafted into a beautiful swan's head, its neck elegantly arched. Upon the dock stood several Elves, politely averting their eyes and patiently waiting for the sisters to board the ship.

"Shall we go?" Aurëwen asked timidly.

Lindhwen looked around, letting her eyes slowly sweep over the fair lands of the Grey Havens. Seagulls swooped overhead, plunging straight towards the waters, yet at the very last moment, pulling spectacularly out of a dive. She envied them, for the birds of the air were free to fly where they wished; as long as the breath of life was granted to them, they were not bound to any fate. What Valinor held in store for her kindred: eternal peace and prosperity, could never satisfy her broken soul. She remained silent to her sister's question, for in her heart, she knew the answer.

"Aurëwen," she whispered, "you and I both very well realize we shall never leave these much-loved shores."

Aurëwen stared back, unreservedly astonished, into her sister's deep emerald eyes that glittered with excitement and hope.

"Amar will be good for our brothers," Lindhwen continued fervently, "but not for me. And surely not for you. This I understand now in my heart: that we should escape back to the land of our beloveds, if escape it may be called. For that is where my spirit lies, and if I forsake its call, Valinor will simply be another dying wasteland, where I shall spend perpetuity in deepest regret and sorrow. All the glory of the Undying Lands will be veiled to my gaze, and nothing shall quench my longing."

Her sister remained speechless, but words had no need to be uttered, for Aurëwen's face shone with delight and anticipation, and ever so slightly, a knowing smile tugged softly at the corners of her mouth.

"Shall we go?" Lindhwen asked, echoing her sister's query, although this time, she knew the nature of the response that would be given.

Aurëwen dipped her head in a single, graceful nod, and with a billow of her dress, swiftly began to stride back towards the forest. Startled by her sister's sudden movement, Lindhwen quickly glanced back at the sparkling blue sea, and hurried after Aurëwen.

* * *

The Elves-in-waiting stood silently next to the ship as they watched the two sisters move steadily back towards the sea of green. They glanced uneasily at each other; beset with shock and disbelief.

Moments later, Eärhil spoke up, casting gaze down to the ground. "I had been wondering when they would turn back. Lady Lindhwen became so sad as we progressed ever closer to the sea." He nudged a few small stones around with his feet, his voice getting quieter and quieter. "Her walk was like the beautiful but slowly fading petals of a rose; her face was impressed with sorrow; her eyes were not focused on the path to the Grey Havens, but dark in tearful reminiscence. She would never have gone to Valinor, for she would have left her heart here."

"My boy," exclaimed an older, dark-haired Elf, "how do you know of such things?"

Eärhil shrugged his shoulders and looked up, his multi-hued eyes glistening with compassion, a tender and serene expression contrasting with his still boyish features. "She is my mistress and my friend," he said, "and I have served her for many years. And this I believe of her actions: She is bound to something on this good earth, something that she chooses to return to. Thus her fate will be different than that of the Eldar who will hereafter dwell in Amar. Her destiny calls, and she has answered."

With that, Eärhil quickly boarded the ship; the others followed, and the ship sailed into the west.

* * *

And, that's it. PLEASE review with as much constructive criticism as possible.

:Slinks away into a little corner:


End file.
